


Something Like a Flashback

by JulyStorms



Series: Petruo Week: December 2014 [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyStorms/pseuds/JulyStorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a distinct difference between déjà vu and whatever it is she she’s experienced now and then when she’s been out with friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like a Flashback

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Petruo Week Day 2: “Night Out.”
> 
> Reincarnation? Something like that. It’s just an excuse to write these two being dorks. Barely edited and written quickly. If you notice problems with the POV let me know; I always miss a word or two, it seems.

There is a distinct difference between déjà vu and whatever it is she she’s experienced now and then when she’s been out with friends.

* * *

 

The first time it happened, she was with Zoë. They had gone to the mall to get something for someone’s birthday, Petra remembers. They were both teenagers, and generally kind of bored, and Zoë had stopped suddenly mid-stride before she zoomed into a bookstore. Petra trailed after her, confused, but when she saw Zoë at the back of the store grinning like a maniac over a book she just _had_ to have for herself, Petra felt sure that there was a familiarity about the situation.

The problem was that she had never experienced it before.

In fact, she’d never been out with Zoë anywhere, so she couldn’t have possibly experienced it.

It happened again and again over the years: sometimes with Eld or Gunther, sometimes when Levi said something particularly odd, occasionally with other people she met with, like Nanaba or Mike or Nifa…but it happened most often around Auruo.

He called it déjà vu, but she insisted it couldn’t be. It was impossible. The situations, the words, sometimes the way someone held their head—they were familiar, but not to her personally, not a part of her own memories.

Her own memories were normal, were _safe_. She’d moved once in her life; both parents were alive and still married; she’d never done anything incredibly stupid or risky.

But sometimes she’d experience things oddly, see things that weren’t there.

And she couldn’t remember a time of her life when that hadn’t happened.

Most people brushed it aside like it didn’t mean anything, like it was normal.

But she was sure it _wasn’t_ normal. Flashes of things that weren’t there crossing her vision and then disappearing as if they were never there to begin with was weird. _She_ was weird.

Sometimes they weren’t overly strange: for a moment one day, as she watched a movie with Zoë, she could have sworn that Zoë’s glasses were oval-shaped instead of square.

But other times they were disturbing: during a friendly basketball game between friends, for a moment she saw a dripping line of red against Gunther’s neck, and one time, when she walked into Auruo’s house and saw him play-wrestling with one of his brothers, she’d suddenly been afraid that he was dead. It was ridiculous, of course, that she would hear his fake groaning of defeat and think anything serious at all about it—let alone forget that Benoit was sitting on his back pumping a victorious fist into the air.

She stopped talking about it after a while—after she realized that people called it déjà vu, called it hallucination, and that her dad, if she wasn’t careful, might consider taking her to a professional to be evaluated, which Zoë said was: “3/10 do not recommend—a three only because he’s paid to listen to you talk, by the way.”

The whatever-they-weres faded into her adult years; occasionally she’d have another experience, but they grew less horrifying over time, and more…trite, she supposed, was the word for it, like the unfounded fear that her chemistry lab partner, Ilse, would one day disappear. It was a ridiculous notion; still, when Ilse missed one day of class, Petra had fretted until she saw her again, until she could get the image of a dropped leatherbound journal out of her mind.

Ilse didn’t even carry a leatherbound journal—just a crappy spiral notebook with doodles all over the cover.

* * *

 

Now, holding a degree in elementary education and one of four third-grade teachers at Northside, she’s said goodbye to those weird sorts of…well, whatever they were. She’s never really had a name for them. She supposes, sometimes, when she’s alone at night, that they could have been genuine hallucinations. Maybe they were more than that, or less—an overactive imagination, for example. But she’s never been certain, has never been able to definitively say one way or another what it was she was dealing with.

It’s not important, anyway, she tells herself, though she does miss them—which is weird, she’s sure. It’s weird to miss something weird, something that would make everyone, even Auruo, question her sanity.

It’s not hard to put the memories of her not-memories aside; they are easy to forget when she doesn’t experience them anymore.

* * *

 

Except that she does experience it once more in her life, her final not-memory, not-experience: whatever it is, she feels certain that it doesn’t belong to her.

Auruo calls her as she’s cleaning up her classroom after school. He tells her that she needs a break, and he needs a break, and if they both need a break—well, they should meet for drinks. Or something. Whatever she wants.

His words are normal, typical; she grins into the phone even though she knows he can’t see her, and tests his patience, his resolve, just because she can: “Let’s go to the mall, then. Walk around—do some shopping.”

There is a moment of hesitation, but he sighs like she’s suggested hell, and he agrees: “Yeah, fine. All right. If you want to.”

He meets her at her apartment an hour and a half later, and they go together. They’ve both changed out of their work clothes and into sloppy casual garbage: it’s easier that way, anyway, she thinks. It lets them be normal people. No students for her, no tech support bullshit for him: it’s nice.

They wander around the mall for a while before they both spot the jewelry store at the same time. There is a moment where they both stare at the rings, and then Petra turns to Auruo, and Auruo to her—and he looks away.

That’s when she hears it: Auruo’s voice.

He says, “You know I’ll never be able to afford some kinda shit like that.”

She stares, and for a moment feels his hand in hers. She sees the lines on his face deepen.

But then she’s blinking as he snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Ey, nag. Back to reality!”

“Did you say something?” she asks. “Before the uncalled-for reality check, I mean.”

He frowns. “What?”

“About the rings,” she prompts.

His fists clench in his jacket pockets. “I didn’t say a thing. You feelin’ all right? Inhale too many glue fumes at school or somethin’?”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s dumb. You’re being dumb. I could have sworn I heard you say something about those rings.”

“Is that a hint?”

“No. Yes. Maybe it is. So what if it is?”

“You can’t pick yes _and_ no.”

“I can do whatever I want, Auruo Bossard.”

“Including inhaling too many glue fumes. I think there’s glitter on your face.”

“You know what, let’s go see a movie.”

“Yeah, fine. What do you wanna watch? I don’t think they got any movies playin’ right now about glue fumes and glitter.”

She laughs and shoves him.

He shoves her back.

Then they’re holding hands as she drags him toward the movies, and everything is normal again.

Halfway through the movie, he leans over.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Was that a hint?”

“What are you talking about?”

“About the rings,” he says under his breath, practically against her ear.

She blinks at him, but grins. “Sure,” she says. “Yeah. It was a hint. You’d think by now you’d want to—“

“You know what, nag?” he asks, shifting back to stick a hand in his jacket pocket: “I think you’re the only nag in existence who would even _try_ to be subtle while still managing to nag. And,” he adds, grinning at her, “you’re the only one who would even think to nag a guy about _marriage_ of all things. Why would you even wanna nag someone about marriage? I mean, Christ, Petra, that should be natural, don’t you think?”

“You have a good point,” she says, nodding.

“Well, here.” He shoves something in front of her eyes and the next thing she knows, she’s looking at a ring. “Proof that I was already planning it before you went ‘n nagged me about it. _Yeah_.”

She’s not sure what to say.

It’s a godawful proposal, honestly, but it’s nice, too. She sits there like an idiot for a long moment.

He waves the ring around a bit.

“Are you going to say yes or are you gonna just sit there like I’m waving a gluestick under your nose?”

She rolls her eyes, pushes the ring back into his face, and as his expression falters, shoves her left hand at him. “Hurry up and put it on my hand, dummy.”

“That’s a yes or no question, nag.”

“You didn’t even _ask_.”

“Okay, so—you gonna marry me or what?”

“Wow, so romantic. With a proposal like that, how could I say no?” She pauses a moment, and wiggles her hand. “That’s a yes. In case you were confused.”

It’s Auruo’s turn to roll his eyes, but he puts the ring on her hand and then _kisses_ her hand—which is weird, but actually pretty cute. He doesn’t let go of her hand afterward. He just grins, says, “My naggy wife-to-be,” and then turns back to the movie and spends the rest of it grinning like a dope.


End file.
